Mysterium Casibus Adventures

I: The Interview

If there was one thing that would perfectly describe Blocker Street, it would be simple as one world. Untrusting. That's all I could say and it make millions realize this is not my ideal type to live in. In fact, anyone in the right mind would dare to live here. By the garage bins were eerie sounding cats and the parking lot walls were filled with graffiti and anarchy. With every inch my eyes could perceive, it only makes me turn away.

"Are you sure this is the right place, Auntie Emile?  I'm not sure about this place," I said, doubtfully.

Right in front of my window view was a perfectly normal 5-story apartment, newly painted in a dark shade of green and who stood humble. It looked peaceful enough for me to deal with. The only thing that made my stomach churn sickly was this part of town wasn't the one you could rely on good night's rest and definitely not the best place for a morning stroll. It would be perfect if you want suspicious people with sniper-like stares looking at you like the one I'm experiencing as of the moment.

"Of course, darling. The Detective definitely lives here. When I was around my late 20's I use to visit him for a cup of tea. The Detective makes the best tea in this whole town!" She remarked.

My aunt always called the detective as "Thee Detective". Yep that's right. There was no point in my life where I heard her refer to him as his name. All I knew that he was a man, basing from the pronouns she uses when she talks about the known stranger. She was never good with recalling names, I never even heard her call me Micheal.

I gulped. "Where did he lived again?" I looked back at her.

"See room over there?" She pointed to the room on the second floor on the right side of the apartment. "That's the one," She added.

With nothing on my mind to stall me from stepping out from the only place I felt a little bit of safety in, I took a deep breath and out of the car I went. Nothing was in my shaken hand but a small luggage bag.

"Darling!" She shouted from the semi-open window. Her voice was followed by a loud honk, not necessary since her voice was clear for the distance between us. "If you need anything, call me," she said and drove a U-turn to head out of the odd street.

With every step, I became more anxious. With every step, I began to have my worried delusions. With every step, I felt like this would be a new chapter in my life.

Like what my aunt pointed at, I approached the door of the room on the second floor on the right side of the apartment. The door wasn't closed a small space was left between the wall and itself. By the time I decided to knock, a man opened the door.

"I could see your shadow on my floor," He said with a British accent. The man wore a white button-up long sleeve and perfectly fitting black slacks held with a jumper. His hair was combed and all held up with hair gel yet a strand of hair hung from his forehead, it bothered a lot for some reason.

"I'm Christopher Winston but most people call me Chris. You could call me by any name. I really don't mind since it's just a name," he informed and beckoned me to enter. "You're Matthew, right? Emile's nephew?" He said with a strong sense of uncertainty.

"It's Micheal, Mr. Winston," I correct.

"Ah, Micheal," Mr. Winston straitened his back and I followed him wherever he was going, which soon ended in his small study room; it was an organized catastrophe. Books and papers were stacked on a small table with their edges popping out in any order. Portfolios were piled in the corner with no order. Dust piled up in some spaces while others didn't since they contained plenty of material I presume is important to him.

"Make yourself feel at home," He said and proceeded to dust of a wooden chair that was in front of a matt-black office table. After cleaning the furniture, he placed his hand on top of the rest of the chair. "Go on. Don't be shy," He said and went to his chair behind the table.

Carefully, I walked over to the said chair and sat on it, placing my luggage bag on my left. It felt comfortable even though it hasn't been used for quite some time based on the dust that build upon it. And there we were. he looked straight at my eyes, and I was nervously sweating. The middle-aged man had a face of determination as he leaned forward and pressed his fingers together.

"How about a Q&A? 2 questions. No wrong answers." He offered.

No response popped out in my head. Rather than replying verbally, I gave him a nod. One short nod and it gave him a smile, not a comforting one. One that would say "the game is on".

"First up, why do you want to be in this case of good and bad? Justice and bias? Fair and unequal?" He questioned me. His direct, cold stare pressured me to give an answer when my pen had nothing to write.

Taking a big gulp I replied with, "If I didn't want to, do you really think I'd be here sitting on this chair?"

"Quite an answer. Next, are you sure you want to be my assistant? No matter whatever happens. Even if things get messed up when everything should go to plan. I don't need an explanation. Yes or no is perfectly good."

It was a simple question yet he managed to make it sound like a death-threat. There were no wrong answers, but it's like if I say the wrong one, I'll be having an appointment with Death.

"Yes."

After Mr. Winston went to my chair, he placed his hand on my shoulder. "You did well. Now for the last question."

"Wait, wait, I thought only 2?"

"2 questions with no wrong answers." He immediately pointed a pistol at my head. I was one inch away from a bullet going to my head. "This one has."

I was frozen, like a deer entranced by the spell of the lights of a truck, unable to move and unable to save myself.

"Would you trust me when it comes to saving your life? Would your trust if it meant a bullet was going to blow your head off. Yes or no and why?" He said with his teeth not separating from each other.

"You're, you're crazy!" I stuttered.

"I need a yes or no answer and why. That's not what I'm looking for."

"Yes! Because good Lord I want to live," I cried out with my heart pumping like I'm depending on a large amount of morphine to keep it like that.

He placed the gun down but quietly uttered, "Wrong answer." Swift as a fox, the Detective placed the gun back at my head and shot my head with a pistol.

My life flashed before my eyes and my heart stopped when I heard a loud noise. But wait a minute, I wasn't dead.

"No, you don't. Do you really think you would trust a stranger with your life like that? I'm not talking to you like we know each other. In fact, I've never met you my whole life and then the same thing goes for you. Lesson for the day: never trust a stranger and I imply that also to me. You know nothing about me and you never will know anything about me." He paused, walking a few short behind me. "On the other hand, you're hired. C'mon, let's go to my office." He turned around and grabbed a coat before finding his keys inside his poket.

I was still shaken as I sat on the chair. He's off his rockers yet my aunt told me he's the best of the best. This day has and forever will be the weirdest and most frightening.